


watch me fall like dominos in pretty patterns

by thinkatory



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dysfunctional Relationships, Extremely Dubious Consent, Isolation, M/M, Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soul Bond, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: "Statement of Olivia Davies, on a year-long infestation."The statement goes, it flows through him as it usually does, but something is different, prickling along the edge of his mind, and the words still leave his mouth even though he registers what's happening on another level of his mind.Jon doesn't have to look up to see the faintest smile on Elias's face. He knows.While Jon is in exile under suspicion of murdering Jurgen Leitner, Elias begins the process of protecting his Archivist.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	watch me fall like dominos in pretty patterns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> This piece feels long for what it is, but I wanted a bit of a frog-boiling feel. I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Title from Radiohead's "Faust Arp."

It's somewhat less than ideal to be wanted for murder.

It's not as though people generally want to be dependent on others, but Jon finds it particularly grating, and he's found himself essentially wholly dependent on both Georgie and Melanie until this all gets sorted out. This sensation, the prickling irritation, is easier to deal with than the rising anxiety. He's always done best by himself by nitpicking the least to ignore the worst.

Georgie isn't home when there's a knock at the door. Jon stays completely still, as though whatever might be behind the door won't be able to recognize his presence if he sits straight and breathes shallowly, then there's another brief knock, and, finally: "Jon, it's me."

Elias. It's definitely unexpected. Jon is genuinely torn on whether or not to open the door now, but he slowly gets to his feet and starts to approach the door. Elias speaks again. "I don't know how much my word means to you, but I'm not here to cause you any harm or trouble."

Elias's word doesn't mean an astounding amount to Jon, but he also knows that Elias is being exceedingly polite right now, and it's probably for the best to play along. He opens the door just a bit and looks Elias in the face; Elias looks back, and Jon realizes just by the look on the man's face that he probably looks just a tad like hell. Great.

"You have two options," Elias says mildly. "You can let me in and we can do this here, or I can safely move you to the accommodations I have for you and you can refrain from being forced to eat dinner with your ex-girlfriend every night. What do you think?"

On its face it seems like an obvious choice, but Jon also doesn't necessarily trust something so easy. "You must have some way for me to be able to come back to the Institute and the real world," Jon says evenly.

"In good time," Elias says patiently. "For now, you have a choice. What do you think?"

Despite himself, he's slightly tempted to take Elias's offer. "What is it you want to do?"

"I want you to record a statement," Elias says, and Jon's expression tightens just enough that Elias's eyebrows flick up. "Yes."

Jon has the impression that Elias is slightly frustrated with Jon's resistance, but he doesn't care. "Why did you feel the need to come here personally?"

"Because I need to see." Elias exhales as Jon just looks at him. "I need to bear witness. It's too complicated to explain."

Admittedly, Jon doesn't think he has much more time he can prop this door open. He also doesn't want Georgie walking in on Elias in her home. Damn it. He opens the door. "We don't have much time," he warns Elias.

Elias's smile is faint. "I don't think this will take very long."

Jon ushers Elias silently into the room Georgie's set aside for him, and Elias takes an easy seat in the desk chair, leaving Jon to sit on the bed as he sets up the tape recorder. As Elias offers the statement to him, Jon hesitates only momentarily before accepting it.

"Statement of Yvette Bagley, on a strange repeated encounter with a man in Covent Garden."

Jon can feel Elias's eyes on him, but it's simple enough to disappear into the statement. At some level, Jon knows he's there.

When he's finished the statement, Elias accepts the papers back, offers a slight smile, and one last thing before he disappears out the door:

"I'll be back. You'll have time to think. Let me know if you change your mind."

This should probably be concerning – deeply concerning – but Jon just feels relieved, as though a weight he hadn't even recognized has been taken from his shoulders.

* * *

Jon goes on as though Elias hadn't come by; he makes conversation with Georgie as best he can, he presses Melanie for more aid and information, and he tells no one that Elias knows full well where he is. It seems for the best that he not worry people unnecessarily. If Elias was at least particularly nefarious as suspected and had the intention of turning Jon in, he would have. For now, Elias isn't trustworthy, but he's not untrustworthy, either. He's just a factor.

Georgie's gone out for drinks with Melanie one night, and finally arrives home at about one AM. She's all but dead to the world asleep within fifteen minutes, and a completely awake Jon makes his way into the common area. The room he's usually in is suffocatingly small on occasion, and even the slightest break from it is welcome.

There's a knock at the door, light, casual. Somehow, Jon already knows who's behind the door, so he hesitates for only a moment before going to open it a crack enough to see Elias waiting.

"Have you made your decision?" Elias asks, voice soft, interest in his eyes.

Jon feels his shoulders set. Unfortunately, he knows he has. This is a terrible mistake, potentially, but as a gambit to somehow get Jon arrested this seems unnecessarily elaborate – and, honestly, if Elias _is_ trustworthy, unlikely as that is, Jon will get far more information from him than from Melanie. He sees Elias see the decision in his face, and he shuts the door quietly to gather his things. Within a minute and a half he's back at the door, and Elias steps aside to allow him through the door.

"I think you're making the right choice," Elias says, conversational but quiet, as he gestures with his head for Jon to follow him to the nearby cab waiting for them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

It's cold and the cab door is open, offering some help from the chill, but he looks Elias in the face. "How do I know you're not taking me to the police station?" he asks, blunt.

"I suppose you don't," Elias returns, contemplative, "but we both know you've sorted out how silly that would be, don't we?"

Jon exhales sharply and moves inside the cab with his bag. Elias moves in next to him, and rattles off an address; Jon falls quiet, concern trying to rise in his chest with each breath, and he sees Elias shake his head. "Enough of that," he says.

"That is _incredibly_ easy for you to say, Elias," Jon says, tone crisp.

"Please give me the slightest bit of credit." Elias gestures. "I wouldn't have interfered if I didn't have a good reason."

"Tell me something." Jon holds Elias's mild gaze. "Who killed Leitner?"

Amusement flickers in Elias's face. "If it was as simple as turning in the culprit, I wouldn't have lost my Archivist to this investigation."

Jon manages not to roll his eyes. "Will you explain, or is it pointless to even keep asking?"

Elias raises his eyebrows and settles back against the seat of the cab. "The point," he says, "is to keep you safe and well. I intend to do that."

"Why?" Jon retorts. "Not that I'm not grateful to be safe and well, but why _not_ give me to the police if you know where I am, why not find a replacement Head Archivist?"

Elias looks torn between vague amusement and weariness. "Because I have put so much work into you, Jon, and I'm not ready to lose you for months or perhaps years."

Jon's on edge now. "I didn't do it."

"I'm well aware."

He has to steady himself. He's in a cab with Elias headed to god-knows-where. _Elias._ He has to be clear-headed. "I'm sorry," he says, measured. "I need to know things. It's a failing."

Elias's mouth quirks up in a vague smile at the last. "Ah, I don't think so."

Jon has to look away from that. This is all too intimate for his liking. He stares out of the cab window as they drive, and eventually they arrive in front of a building of high-rent flats. It's a bizarre turn – Jon had honestly been expecting some awful hotel – but Elias is already stepping out of the cab before Jon can ask any more questions. He seizes his bag and follows Elias through the gates into the building.

Elias is casually silent as he opens the building's door with a code, and makes his way to the lift. Jon finally musters a response to all this through the confusion: "Where are we?"

"A safe place," Elias returns, and shifts his attention back to Jon after he's punched the button.

Jon watches him. "You happen to have this sort of flat lying around?"

"You could say that." The lift door pings open, and Elias steps inside, beckoning Jon inside; he punches the button for the fourth floor in an easy motion, and goes on. "I'll only ask one thing from you during the time you must weather this storm, Jon, and I'm sure you know what I'm going to say."

"Statements." Jon thinks about Elias's presence, somehow warm though at a physical distance, as he'd given the last statement. "You'll want to sit in."

"As I said," Elias says mildly, "I have to bear witness."

Jon bites back further questions. "Some ritual nonsense," he clarifies instead, taking refuge in sarcasm.

"Something like that." Elias is watching him, now, and they seem to be at some sort of impasse just as the lift door pings open. Elias strolls off the lift and Jon follows him with a slight eyeroll as they make their way down the hallway.

Once they're in the flat, Jon hesitates within two or three steps. The outside veneer of the building didn't lie; this is a nice flat, larger than his own by a fair margin, and he makes it another few steps inside before Elias gently takes the bag from his hands.

"You should sleep," Elias suggests. "Let me show you to your bedroom."

"I don't want to sleep." Something about this feels wrong.

Elias shakes his head at Jon. "I promise that you are safe here."

Jon knows it's true, that right now Elias does need him safe and well, because nothing else makes sense. He assents by glancing away in just enough surrender, and Elias catches him by the arm for the moment to pull him down a hallway. There's a small, furnished but decoratively unfinished bedroom, clearly a guest room, and Elias moves aside to allow Jon inside.

"Rest," Elias suggests, and shuts the door behind himself as he leaves.

Jon is so very tired.

He sleeps.

* * *

There's food in the flat. Jon cooks for himself, considerate of the stock in the pantry, and goes about his life. There are books in the flat, too, mostly nonfiction, history, some rare. He lies around too much, maybe. It's during one of these periods of staring into space that a key audibly fits into the door, and he's only just sat up when Elias appears through the door.

"Have you eaten?" Elias checks, casual as anything.

"Yes," Jon says, a little baffled, admittedly.

"Good." Elias opens the messenger bag he's carrying and takes out a folded stack of papers. "It's time."

Time for his trained monkey to do as he's told, Jon supposes, and tries not to be resentful of the thought. He silently goes to get the tape recorder, and sits forward, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands as he waits to receive the statement from Elias.

The statement is longer than usual. Jon's gaze flicks up to Elias as he sits in the easy chair some feet away, then he glances away and begins.

"Statement of Olivia Davies, on a year-long infestation."

The statement goes, it flows through him as it usually does, but something is different, prickling along the edge of his mind, and the words still leave his mouth even though he registers what's happening on another level of his mind.

Jon doesn't have to look up to see the faintest smile on Elias's face. He knows.

He doesn't record a post-script, simply clicking the recorder off, and looks into Elias's face. "What are you playing at?" he asks, blunt.

"Jon," Elias says, with bemused patience, "pick your battles." Jon opens his mouth to answer, but Elias cuts him off. "Is this so much to ask, a statement every few days?"

"I don't trust easily," Jon says pointedly. "Another flaw, I'm afraid."

Elias muses on that. "That will serve you well," he concedes, "but for now I should think it's for the best to play along and give me what I like until it all becomes clear. Isn't that how it goes for you, these days?"

Jon keeps Elias's gaze. "For once I'd like a clear answer right off the bat."

"There's no such thing," Elias says; some kind of amusement is sparking in his eyes. "When you've dealt in these games as long as I have, you learn that."

"Yes, you're so wise," Jon says, sardonic. "What else can I do for you, Elias?"

"Nothing for now." Elias still doesn't move. "Is it so terrible?" he asks. "To have someone with you, while you commune as you do?"

Jon doesn't have a good answer for that. "It's different," he says finally.

Elias tilts his head, finally breaking his gaze from Jon's face. "I have abandoned my Archivists in past," he says. "You're different."

"Because I can manage a filing system?" Some refuge in sarcasm is worthwhile right now, troubling as this turn in the conversation is.

"I will not lose you, Jonathan Sims," Elias says, tone far more casual than the words would indicate, and moves to his feet. "I'll see you soon."

Jon doesn't know what to say, so he goes with, "I'll need food within the next week."

"Done," Elias says lightly, and offers a slight smile. "Keep busy."

"Naturally." Jon's throat tightens as Elias turns to leave, and once the door closes he immediately goes to find a book, desperate to put that conversation as far from his mind as possible.

When he manages to fall asleep, Jon dreams. He wanders a library. The books refuse to leave the shelves. The books aren't the point. He's looking for Elias. He knows Elias is somewhere within the stacks, paging through books that refuse to open to someone as little as Jon, but Elias keeps his distance.

He wakes up, and paces into the kitchen.

All he can do is cook breakfast. It's four AM, but he's starving. He cooks some eggs, and manages to finish them off and get them on a plate before he finally snaps.

There's a tape in the recorder. Of course there is.

"It's the fifteenth of November, 2017," Jon starts, "and I am Elias Bouchard's pet."

It's some small relief to complain and worry into the recorder. His eggs get cold, but it doesn't matter.

The rest of the day is fine. So are the next three.

Only then does the terrible loneliness strike. He records twice a day, half-denials, half-truths, all mistakes. Any semblance of a normal sleep schedule vanishes.

At two-thirty in the morning, Jon throws a book at the wall and stares at the spot it struck. Pathetic. A man with no power.

He records again.

* * *

Elias appears at noon the next day. "I brought lunch," he says mildly. "Come fetch a plate."

Jon's nerves are tense, and he goes silently into the kitchen, rigid as he takes some of the Chinese food. They move to the dining table, and Elias toys with his food as he watches Jon. Jon can feel Elias's gaze on him. "What," he snipes.

"I have a statement for you," Elias says.

Jon stabs his fork into a piece of chicken. "Imagine that," he says, gesturing with the chicken before eating it.

Elias doesn't seem bothered at all by his mood. "How are you feeling, Jon?"

Jon stares at him. Elias persists in looking back at him, until Jon finally shakes his head and releases a pointedly sharp breath. "It was a mistake to come here," Jon says. "You're not giving me anything I can work with. I'm not learning anything from these statements you give me, I'm not making any progress on anything, least of all the thing that has me trapped here."

"Do you really think I'm not doing what I can?" Elias asks.

"And what is it that you can do?" Jon retorts. "What is it that you're waiting to do?"

"There's nothing I can do without your help." Elias holds his gaze. "Do you understand?"

Jon has no idea if he can trust Elias, but at least this much would ostensibly make sense. "These statements."

"They're irrelevant. Simply fodder," Elias confirms. "For the next step."

That's probably the best he's going to get. "So you're just going to keep bringing me statements," Jon says, and glances away, nettled that Elias seems to see straight through him in the moment. "And sit there and stare at me while I go."

"Oh, it's a bit more complex than that," Elias says, "but yes, that's the general idea."

After they finish eating, Jon immediately goes to get the tape recorder, and accepts the paper from Elias.

"Statement of Thomas Polley, on a house-fire from his childhood."

On some level in his mind, his soul, Elias is there. Vivid. Real.

Jon aches for touch. His fingers grip into the paper, but nothing else changes. It can't.

Elias's smile is the same as he leaves.

Jon is angrier than he can remember being, and he couldn't possibly explain why.

He sleeps, but he thankfully doesn't dream.

* * *

It's almost an itching sensation. Something is missing. Jon reads the same books over again, and begins to hate them vividly. By the time Elias is back through the door, Jon is so unquestionably, embarrassingly upset that he refuses to even look up.

Elias sits beside him. It's barely physical contact, but it's enough to shock Jon into vivid half-relief. Then Elias's hand slips into his hair, and it's surreal but absolutely what he needs. It's everything he can do not to break down.

"I can't explain what's happening to you," Elias says softly, "but I know how to stop it."

Jon's voice comes out low. "Tell me."

Elias is wry, now, but Jon is willing to forgive a lot if his hand just keeps lingering through his hair and along his scalp. "You may not like it."

What choice does he have? "I'm listening."

Elias withdraws, and offers his hand. "Come with me." Jon only hesitates for a moment, and allows Elias to pull him down the hallway, to the master bedroom, a finer affair that Jon hasn't dared enter in all this time. This has implications, and Jon glances back to Elias skeptically, only to tense perfectly at Elias's hand cupping his chin and tilting his face up to his.

"Yes or no?" Elias asks, eyes full of that alien expression, too calculating to be anything like Jon.

"I don't." Does he? "Elias."

"Tolerate me," Elias suggests. "For a time."

"Do I have a choice?" Jon retorts, despite himself, and Elias's expression is amusedly despairing before he leans in and kisses Jon on the mouth. Jon goes still, reassured by the touch at some level but knowing, knowing that none of this is right.

Elias steers him easily towards the bed, his mouth pressing along Jon's neck as they go, his fingers working Jon's belt open and his trousers down. Jon needs to find a place in his mind where all this is just what needs to be done, but it's getting harder to carve that place out in his mind; he's losing control with that awful, hungry part of his mind that just wants not to be alone and untouched by human contact, so desperate to be sated by every brush of Elias's hand and mouth. His breath catches as Elias's body presses warm to his, Elias's mouth harsh and firm to his own, and Elias's cock already hard against his thigh.

He has to be all right with this.

That's what this relief breaking through him is. It's _want_. It has to be. It's that desire he's always heard about, that intensity and heightened feeling you're supposed to feel, even if it's for Elias, _Elias_ , that's fine, isn't it? It's just a one-time thing, for... for what?

To help. Supposedly.

No. He needs to get out of his own head. Elias has his hand around Jon's cock now and his teeth grazing into Jon's neck, and this is what he needs to focus on, right now, because he can't think about how this is oh god, stop, stop, stop, _stop_.

His eyes slam shut tightly.

"Yes," Elias murmurs, as Jon's cock starts to stir. "Good."

"Elias." Jon's voice comes out breathier than he'd like.

Elias sounds gentler than he usually does. "What do you want, Jon?"

"Stop."

It leaves his mouth before he can stop it. The only problem is that Elias doesn't, and his hand almost feels good around Jon's cock, and his breath comes quicker from fear or arousal or both. "Elias," he repeats.

"Stop," Elias echoes, and looks into Jon's face. That look on his face, one Jon couldn't possibly name if asked, terrifies him into submission. He sinks back, and watches as Elias slips down between his thighs to wrap his mouth around Jon's cock.

Jesus. It's too much. He wants to throw himself out of the window but also whatever has been wrecking him for days, maybe over a week now, _needs_ this, and he's never felt this before, not this way. Maybe that means something. Maybe that means he just needs to let it happen.

Jon shudders as a current of pleasure ripples through him from the easy way Elias works Jon's cock in his mouth, and Elias hums approvingly as he goes. _You're fine, Jon._ He tries to watch, detached, but it's all too overwhelming, and finally Elias lifts his head and looks at Jon with unmasked interest in his face.

"Turn around," he says.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, no, this is fine. Jon catches his breath and shifts back as he turns away from Elias, who touches him all over, gently, as though he knows exactly how to soothe whatever awful feelings need sating in Jon's nerves. Then Elias presses his slicked cock into Jon's ass, and all the relief flutters away.

"Breathe, Jon," Elias says softly.

That's easy for him to say, but Jon tries to steady his breath anyway as Elias slowly moves inside of him. It's an absolutely bizarre feeling, both unwelcome and welcome, and he focuses on the latter, on the fullness of Elias's cock rigid and hot inside of him.

There's a pause where Elias seems to be waiting, then he starts to move, and Jon drops his head down against the pillow, breathing through the sensations. Then Elias's hand moves around his cock, working it as he fucks into Jon, and it complicates everything.

God, it feels _good_. Not what he would've expected. Not what he wants to be feeling right now, to be honest, but he shudders out a breath and he knows that Elias can feel what's going on now, too, because Elias releases the smallest sort of breathy laugh and begins to fuck him harder.

This is bad, this is not good, this is a mistake, this has _all been a mistake_ , but Jon bites into the corner of the pillow so he can restrain making a single sound. Every bit of him is tensed and relaxed at the same time, and he doesn't want to come _he doesn't want to come_ he doesn't want to – 

"Fuck," Jon gasps, and he comes, more intensely than he could've imagined, sinking against the pillow desperately. Elias makes an awfully satisfied sound and fucks into him harder until he withdraws, and Jon feels come spill onto his lower back.

"Stay still," Elias says, still breathless, and gently swipes the come off of him with a tissue. He guides Jon to lie on his side away from his own come, and rests beside him; the bed's big enough for that. "Hm," he says, sounding much more like Elias now, "laundry."

"Elias," Jon warns, feeling just a shade more like himself.

Elias runs his fingers through Jon's hair, down his cheek, and kisses him on the mouth again.

"You're safe now," he says, "my Archivist."

Jon's too frightened to ask what that means.

* * *

Elias disappears after that. It's another week before he sees Elias, and the creeping, horrible sensation of absence kicks in two days before that. He hates how petulant he's becoming between recording statements, seeing Elias, he hates himself, and more than anything he hates not knowing what's going on.

When Elias finally reappears, Jon's ready; he seizes Elias by the collar and slams him up against the wall of the corridor. "Tell me what's going on," he demands.

"Oh, Jon," Elias says, soft, amused. "Are you ready for that?"

"Yes," Jon bites out. "I very much am."

"Why don't we record a statement?" Elias's smile is too much for Jon right now, and he bristles. "I think you'll be in a better mood."

"Later." He can't deny that he needs that now, can he? "Tell me what's going on."

"You needed protection. You needed satisfaction." He keeps Jon's gaze, steady, unflinching. "I found a way to offer it to you."

"By fucking me," Jon says, caustic.

"Yes," Elias says without hesitation.

"No," he retorts. "That's not why you did that."

"Then why?" _That smile again._ "Pray tell."

"Because – " No, Jon needs to get control of himself before he says something he regrets. He shoves Elias back against the wall again and stalks away, hating that he wants to go back, to get some sort of solace.

Elias reappears at the entrance of the sitting room as Jon paces back. He can't look Elias in the face. "Get out," Jon suggests.

"Jon," Elias says, warning, "there's no point in being unreasonable."

"Unless you're going to explain what the _hell_ you've been doing to me, get out," Jon snaps off.

Elias looks contemplative. "I found a way to protect you," he says. "So I did it."

"And what was that?" Jon snaps out, sardonic.

Elias shrugs. "I bound you to me," he says. "You're powerful in your own right, but I'm far more powerful than you. I supposed you would be better prepared for the coming fight if you had more to draw on than your own inherent ability, and I'll stand by that."

That's a lot of unnecessarily terrifying words. "Stop talking around this. _What did you do_?"

"You're mine now," Elias says, and seems to enjoy the look that Jon must have on his face. "The good news is, I'm also yours."

"How is that good news?" Jon demands. He can't get hysterical right now, that would be embarrassing, and also it's not going to help whatsoever. "You had absolutely no right – "

"I'm afraid you were already reaching that point," Elias says, sounding maybe one-quarter apologetic. "Not totally, but I think you felt what was starting to happen."

"You did this." Jon can't breathe. "You – "

Elias approaches him; Jon takes two steps back, but Elias takes his hands and pulls Jon back towards him. He slips an arm around Jon's waist and another gently, deliberately into his hair; Jon releases a desperate shudder in pure relief, and Elias breathes softly against his ear before he speaks, barely audible, "Isn't this better?"

Is it better, to be Elias Bouchard's?

He stays still, doesn't pull back, doesn't resist, and Elias murmurs, "Good." He begins to whisper, then, and Jon can feel Elias's breaths against his chest, each movement, as they remain close. "Jon, I want you to listen to me."

What choice does he have? If he had a choice, would he even say no?

"I want you to do exactly as I say." Something changes in the timbre of Elias's voice, some dark tinge entering, and a shiver cuts through Jon. "I want you to feel what I tell you to feel."

What does that even mean? Jon feels something tipping in him, some scale drifting in a direction he's not sure he likes, and he says nothing.

"I want you to think of me fucking you." Jon can feel Elias's breath hot on his cheek, his ear, and he shifts, but Elias's even slight grip is holding him fast. "I want you to think of how you came."

The image flickers into his head, the sensation, the way his breath shot out of him and he wasn't sure he'd ever get it back in that instant. It's a thought he can't entertain right now, but it's also one that won't leave, and he feels his breaths quicken.

"Do you hear me, Jon?" God, he can _feel_ Elias's voice rippling through him, and he realizes with mixed confusion and horror that he's starting to get hard, just a little. "Tell me if you hear me."

"Yes," Jon murmurs, barely audible himself.

"Good." Elias sounds vaguely satisfied. "Now I want you to think about me fucking you. How it felt. How you liked it. I know you liked it."

Had he? He had. Whether he'd liked it or not. Was that possible, to want it, to not want it, all at once? It seems like sort of a binary thing, but then, human sexuality has never been his forte. Of course, he can't think about this right now because Elias is still talking, and his cock is stirring even more. "You want me to fuck you again, don't you? It must all be very confusing. Wanting my cock inside of you again, when that's never really been your thing, has it?"

"No." Jon's voice sounds desperate, and he absolutely hates it for a flash, but it's gone within an instant. He wants to press his cock into Elias's body, some friction, but he knows he can't.

"We can do that," Elias whispers, and Jon shudders at the sensation of the words. "I just need you to come."

Jon doesn't understand. "Elias," he gets out. "Please."

"No," Elias says, soft, penetrating. "Come."

It strikes something inside of him, and he presses forward, his breaths harsh, and Elias holds him fast. He's so hard, god, he's so hard as he presses his cock into Elias's hip, then he breaks and comes inside his pants in a gasping mess.

It's fantastic at first, sharp and bright and all through every cell of him, then he comes back to himself and the words escape his mouth in a half-agonized, awful tone: "What the fuck."

Elias's mouth moves against his neck, and despite himself, Jon shifts against it. "Do you want me or not?" Elias whispers.

Fuck.

Jon knows better. But he also knows better than to think that matters.

Elias fucks him so hard his mind comes apart at the seams. When Elias suggests mere seconds after it's time to return to the Institute, he doesn't think twice before agreeing.

Jon rests against Elias's shoulder, desperate, angry at himself, and so terribly satisfied, and asks, "How?" No, no. "Won't they – "

"No," Elias says patiently. "Remember what I told you?"

He's going to play stupid. He falls quiet.

"Jon." Shit. Elias is going to say it, isn't he? Jon knows he's going to say it. "You're mine. You're safe."

"And what do I owe you?" Jon whispers.

"Nothing." Elias pauses. "And everything."

Shakily, Jon exhales, and says nothing.

* * *

Two days after Jon's arrival back to the Institute, Elias takes the confrontation by the Archive's staff very well, and rather congenially tells the truth about Leitner, and Gertrude Robinson while he's at it. Jon isn't surprised, but he vomits in the loo shortly after anyway. He keeps a toothbrush and toothpaste at the Institute as it is, so he brushes his teeth, and everything is fine.

It's fine.

Everyone at the Institute knows. They don't know the details, but they know. It's too clear in Jon's shoulders, in the way he looks at Elias now, at the gentle touches Elias fails to hide every time he sees Jon, in the way Jon's gaze goes down and satisfied at every single one. The others don't trust him, now, but Martin's the only one who dares speak to him after the news breaks.

"Jon." Jon doesn't look up from his work, wearing a vaguely unimpressed expression as he keeps reading, but Martin goes on. "What did he do to you?"

Jon lifts his gaze to Martin's, seeing angry concern there, the same expression he might have had two months ago about his own predicament when this all began that night at Georgie's.

"Nothing I didn't allow to happen," Jon says, and holds his gaze. "Tell the others they can come to me. I'm still the Archivist. I'm still – me. It's just – " Shit. What can he possibly say?

"Him," Martin finishes, in that pointed way of his. "It's him."

"He did what he did to protect the Institute." Jon doesn't allow himself to pause, to reconsider. "But this – _this_ had to happen."

Martin tries to bore pure concern through him, to make him see some sense. "Did it?"

Jon knows what to say. "Worse is coming. Now we're prepared."

It's probably not true, but he has nothing, and everything, left to lose by believing another lie.


End file.
